


Alone

by tnlph



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cursed Captain Hook | Killian Jones, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnlph/pseuds/tnlph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora protected Hook from being taken to Storybrooke by the curse, but what happens when he meets Emma Swan on her 28th birthday and both their worlds start to unravel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma loved her apartment. Well, except maybe her front door. One night she'd stood outside for a full fifteen minutes trying to decipher the text and numbers so carefully designed by what she decided was an insane interior decorator, but could make no sense of it. Gibberish, plain and simple, about spells and curses. If it weren't for the beautiful apartment that lay on the other side, it almost would have been enough to turn her off of the apartment entirely.

Oh, but once she'd opened the door it was all a different story. It was shiny and new, unlike anything else she'd ever had in her entire life, and it would all be hers. Her one true love: a spacious kitchen, floor to ceiling glass with a view, and hardwood floors. Oh, and a bathtub she could lose herself in for hours. She'd never had a home, but maybe this could become one? She worked hard to earn a good living, and spending money on somewhere she could relax and call her own was priority number one. She pictured herself coming home from long days at work running after god knows who, and kicking off her shoes, turning on the fireplace, yes, there was a fireplace, and relaxing with a glass of wine and a maybe even a book. When her application was accepted, she happily wrote the check for the exorbitant rent and moved her belongings in.

So last night when she got home and she went to start her long, long overdue laundry and found that her machine was broken, she felt betrayed by her one true love. And on her birthday too. That was the real kicker. Another banner year, indeed.

Honestly, last night hadn't even been her worst birthday. Catching the skip provided a healthy paycheck, and the cupcake she treated herself to was delicious. The tiny glimmer of hope ("I wish I didn't have to be alone") was just that, a tiny glimmer. She never actually expected her wish to come true. The days of her worst birthdays were long behind her. Those were spent in the foster system, where every birthday meant she was another year older and less likely to ever be adopted. She tried not to let it get to her, and eventually she hit a point where it got better. Every birthday was another year closer to getting out and being on her own.

Not that being on her own had gone too well for her at first, but she didn't dwell on that anymore. She knew that it affected all of the decisions she made when it came to personal relationships, but she didn't actively let it occupy time in her brain. Go to work, catch bad guys, come home, relax. It was her routine and she was content with it. It kept her from asking questions she wasn't prepared to know the answers to.

So when she found herself packing up laundry to go to the laundromat the day after her birthday, she was decidedly out of sorts. This was not in her plan. Having a washer and dryer was part of the beauty of the apartment, so she didn't have to go out to do these things. Luckily she found a place open late the next block over, and she wouldn't have to deal with parking. Just with people.

////

Friday night at the laundromat, just like every friday night. The fluorescent lights, the hum of the dryers. The thunk of an unevenly loaded washer.

He stood leaning up against the counter, half reading his book, half watching the countdown on his dryer. He wasn't looking forward to the buzz, as that always meant folding. He couldn't even remember how many years it had been since he'd lost his hand, and he was adept with his hook prosthetic, but folding just was the most draining of the tasks in his mundane life. At least it signaled the end of laundry, and he could go home, grab a beer and settle in for the weekend with his book.

He turned the page and looked up to see that the count was now down to nine minutes left, and that's when he felt it.

Everything changed. The lights stopped flickering. The fog he seemed to permanently live in began to lift. The air smelled fresher. The constant ringing in his ear suddenly stopped.

He put the book down and stood a little straighter, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

As he opened them, that's when he saw her. His heart hit the front of his chest when his eyes settled on the blonde. He instantly knew she was responsible for whatever had just happened to him. How the presence of one person could have changed everything the way she did, he could not explain.

Silently he pulled the clothes out of the dryer and put them in the washer, hoping she didn't notice. He needed to start the routine all over again. He needed time to figure out how to talk to her.

Up until just now, everything in Killian's life was monotony. Wake up, go to work, lunch at noon, come home. Tuesday night was for grocery shopping. Wednesday night for the library. Friday night for laundry. Now, with this woman standing in front of him, he was kicking himself. How could he talk to her when he had nothing interesting to say?

The more he tried to think about it, the more confused he got. Why couldn't he think of anything? What if she asked about his hand? He didn't remember how he lost it. In fact, now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember anything. Panic started welling up in his chest.

He looked up and saw her again. As soon as his eyes passed over her blonde hair and the red leather of her jacket, his heart calmed. As long as he stayed focused on her, the panic was at bay. He felt the fresh, cool air, so devoid of the previous fog, passing through his lungs and knew he needed to talk to her. She was the answer to everything, even if he couldn't figure out why.

Luckily, she provided the opening. He noticed her looking around a little panicked, with a twenty dollar bill in her hands. Smiling to himself, he knew he could fix the situation. He'd arrived earlier in the evening to himself notice the "no twenties" sign taped to the change machine, and had ducked out to the nearest corner store to get some tens and fives.

"Need some change, love?" Love, where had that come from? He certainly did not address strange women, any woman, as love. He heard himself call out to her before he had even realized he planned on saying it.

She looked up and saw the extremely attractive man standing right in front of her. She'd been so distracted by getting herself situated at the laundromat, she hadn't taken time to take any stock of her surroundings. She definitely would have noticed him next. Tall, dark hair, three day scruff, amazing blue eyes, jeans and a plain white t-shirt. And the English accent. Oh, that accent. Exactly the type of guy she liked when she looked for company for the night.

"Actually, that'd be great. I didn't realize I couldn't change a twenty."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, and that's when she noticed the hook in lieu of his left hand. Well, it wasn't really a hook, it was two curved metal pieces he could manipulate by flexing the muscles in his forearm. He could no more remember getting it than he could remember losing his hand, but it was a part of him.

He held the wallet with his hook and handed two fives and a ten over to her and she exchanged them for the twenty.

She gave him a silent nod, and returned to the change machine. He picked up his book, and stood by his machine, pretending to read as he heard the plings of quarters as they hit the coin return in the machine.

He wanted to sit down, but wanted to be sure he was positioned close to wherever she settled once her clothes were in the wash. Feigning absolute disinterest in her activities, he would turn a page once a minute or so, while watching out of the corner of his eyes as she separated her items. He could wait. His wash had just begun.

Not knowing what was coming over her, she felt compelled to talk to the man who'd given her change earlier. Obviously she wasn't going to be hooking up with a guy she met in a laundromat. She reserved her one night stands for guys she met in bars far, far, far from her apartment, to reduce the chances she'd ever run in to him again. A guy doing laundry the block over from her building? There was every chance she'd run in to him again at the grocery, on the sidewalk, or even at Jay's, the bar she liked to go to when she needed a night out. Running into a one night stand again would mean explaining why she wasn't there when he woke up. So, what was her end game in talking to him? Emma Swan didn't do friends. She didn't even do acquaintances.

But still, there was a draw. She wanted to talk to him, and she found herself doing something completely out of character.

"What are you reading?" she asked?

His peripheral vision had given him warning that she was approaching, but hadn't wanted to look up just yet. When he heard the question, he slowly looked up and smiled.

"Master and Commander. It's about sailing. I think I may have been a sailor in a past life," he joked.

"Not a pirate? Maybe Captain Hook."

"No, it's wrong." His answer had been so quick and forceful. He didn't know where it had come from.

"What's wrong?" she asked, completely puzzled.

"Peter Pan. It's wrong. The story is wrong. I read it once and hated it. Can't remember why now. But I just remember thinking it was wrong."

"Hm," was all the reply he got to that. Why had he said that. For the life of him he couldn't have actually told you when he read 'Peter Pan.' He's pretty sure if you'd asked him about it yesterday he never would have remembered he HAD read 'Peter Pan.' But today, the more he thought about it, the more it came back to him. Peter Pan was a pain in the ass.

"I'm Killian by the way." He held out his hand with a raised eyebrow, clearly indicating that her name would be welcome in exchange. He realized he needed to do something normal to make up for the crazy that had just spewed from his mouth.

"Emma." She returned the handshake.

She had taken out her phone and was flipping through images and pages of what looked to be biography information.

"What is it that you're reading, if you don't mind me asking?

"I'm looking up information on a case. I'm a bailbonds person." He shook his head as though he didn't understand. "A skip trace," she explained, using a different term. Another shake of the head. Finally she sighed and resigned herself to the term everyone knew. "A bounty hunter. People skip out on their bail. I find them. I get to keep a portion of the bond."

He eyed her with a smirk, the profession not matching the body and face he saw in front of him. "Not to sound too inappropriate, love, but how exactly does a woman like you end up in bail bonds?"

"A woman like me?"

"Beautiful as hell," he said with a smile and a wink. Again, he questioned himself, not sure if he'd ever winked in his entire life. "I imagine bail bonds is quite a strenuous job, and a woman such as yourself could probably find a much safer profession."

Emma did not want to explain to a complete stranger that when you're 20 and fresh out of prison, the route to employment isn't always the easiest. Plus, she resented the implication that she should have taken a different path in life based on her looks alone.

She shrugged. "I'm good at finding people. Typically if someone's run out on their bail, they don't want to be found. But I'm good at it. I've yet to lose anyone."

"I can't imagine you ever fail," he said completely in earnest. He'd known her for less than ten minutes, but he knew that this Emma was not someone to be trifled with.

He grew quiet, leaving her to continue on her phone, as an idea percolated in his mind.

She sat flipping through the images on her phone to keep her from talking more to the stranger at the laundromat. She couldn't tell you why she was talking to him. She never talked to strangers, not unless she was gathering information on a mark. So why was she so interested in him. Sure, he was handsome. Maybe that was a bit of an understatement. But lots of men were handsome. There was just something about him that got to her the second she had made eye contact with him. He looked at her as though she were everything. Ordinarily, when someone focused on her with that kind of intensity, she found it creepy. But with him, it was different. Almost comforting. So now, when he said that he couldn't imagine she'd ever fail, she nearly lost it. An absolute stranger showing more faith in her than anyone ever had in her entire life? Part of her wanted to just abandon her clothes and run. The other part wouldn't have been able to leave without knowing more about him. At least she had his name and could look him up later. Killian couldn't be a common name. Ten minutes on the computer and she'd have his complete history. She felt slightly guilty for a moment. What right did she have to pry into his past, when she would be so unwilling to share hers?

"Maybe you could help me?" she heard him say quietly.

"Pardon?"

"Maybe you could help me? You said you're good at finding people. Well, maybe you could help me. Maybe you could find me."

"Um, you're standing right there."

"That's not what I mean. If I start telling you this, you're going to think I'm crazy, but I swear it's the truth."

And here it is, she thought. The good looking, seemingly intelligent man with the accent that could almost make her swoon was too good to be true. Here's where she learned his crazy. At least he was going to be upfront about it.

"Here's the thing. I have a built-in bullshit detector. I always know when people are lying to me. Tell me your story. If I believe you, maybe I'll help. Maybe."

He grabbed her wrist and both jumped back in surprise when they felt the shock that ran through them. Emma tried to play it off as static discharge. That happened a lot at the laundromat, right? Killian knew better. It was a sign. He reached for her again, this time circling her wrist with his hook, and led her to the back, next to some of the dryers away from the other patrons. He pulled two of the green plastic lawn chairs available for the customer's use and set them up facing each other. Taking one for himself, he indicated that she should take the other.

He sat with his elbows on his knees, arms steepled to his chin. With a deep inhale he started, "so look, I've already told you this is all going to sound crazy. I'm well aware of that. But it's the truth as far as I know it. I know nothing about myself. People at work call me Killian Jones, but I don't KNOW that that's my name. It does sound right, though. I'm an engineer, at least that's what I do every day at work. I have no memories of becoming an engineer. No memories of college. An engineer should have gone to college, right? I've got a god damned hook for a hand and no memories of either losing the hand or getting this bloody attachment. One would remember that, right? No memories of family. Everyone has a family, right?" She flinched a little as she heard him say that. "Emma, all I can think is that I have amnesia. But that's ridiculous. People don't get amnesia like that. But there's no other explanation for my life. Until you walked into this laundromat tonight, it was like I lived in a fog. I went to work. I read. I slept. That's it. Nothing makes sense to me. You're the first clear thing I've ever seen. Please, you have to help me figure this out. You said it yourself, you find people." He realized that he had gotten progressively louder the longer he talked, and his intention to sound as rational as possible as he explained had failed. He finally looked to see what her reaction to the story was, but the last thing he expected to see was fear.

Emma had sat staring at him through his whole explanation. The needle on her bullshit detector hadn't even moved. And that terrified her. She wanted to tell herself that just because this guy believed his crackpot story didn't make it true. Maybe he was so unhappy in his old life he'd run and started some new reality. But why would he be begging for her help? Within seconds of meeting this man she'd felt connected to him like she hadn't felt to anyone since, well, in a long time. And allowing herself to get close then had only hurt her. So she did what she should have done all those years ago.

She ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Midnight. Of course she couldn’t sleep. She didn’t have her sheets, having abandoned her laundry. She had briefly considered sneaking back to get it, but was sure he would still be there waiting for her to return. She decided to get up, giving in to the insomnia. Was it really considered insomnia if you knew why you were up? She couldn’t get Killian Jones out of her mind. His story was crazy, but he obviously believed it.

Grabbing her laptop, she sat on the couch curling her legs up underneath her. What was the harm? Ten minutes and she’d have her answers and she’d finally be able to let it go. She started at the beginning: Google and Facebook. Problem was, the name Killian Jones didn’t even come up on those sites. Nothing. Nothing at all. Intriguing. She’d have to go to the next level. Jones, engineer, Boston. 107 hits. She groaned. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought.

She got up and padded over into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water and grab a snack. Might as well settle in for a long search. She grabbed a notepad and a pen from her desk and settled back down in on the couch.

Three hours later she had found him, but had no more answers than when she set out. When she started tapping into her less common and maybe not so above board search functions, it got murkier.

She couldn’t handle it. Another hour later she was more confused than when she started. She climbed back into bed, trying to stop her brain from betraying her. All she saw when she closed her eyes was his dark hair, scruff, and blue eyes. All she heard was the tone of his voice and his pleas. She turned the TV on, hoping to be distracted by whatever was being shilled to the other sleepless saps, and eventually she was able to catch a few hours of sleep.

In the morning, praying that he would no longer be there, she returned to the laundromat to grab her clothes. Figuring she was going to have to rewash everything after it had spent all night mildewing in the washer, she was surprised to see everything neatly folded sitting in her basket. She didn’t even want to think about how much effort that must have taken him with just his one hand.

She decided that maybe when she went into work on Monday she’d start a file and investigate properly. Something wasn’t adding up, and maybe he could use her help. She was intrigued now. She tried to tell herself it was just that. She was intrigued.

* * *

 

“Emma Swan.” She answered her phone while she searched yet another dead end when trying to figure out the history of Killian Jones.

“Swan,” the voice on the other end of the line replied, as though it was an answer to a question. It was a voice she’d know anywhere. She scrunched up her face. She could hang up. She could tell him to leave her alone and not harass her. But she couldn’t. She needed to tell him what she had found, and see if he could shed any light on her confusion. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to face him yet.

“Hi, Killian. How did you find me?”

“Well, I had two choices. Get arrested and hope for the best or call every bail bondsperson in this city until I found you. One hundred and sixty seventh time was a charm. I’ve been busy.”

She had to appreciate his thoroughness, but what did she expect from the man who had not only folded her laundry perfectly, but sorted it by type and color.

Silence reigned for a few seconds.

“Swan,” he said, practicing the word. “The name suits you.”

“What are you calling for, Killian?”

“You know what I want, Emma. I need your help. Please, just meet me for a drink.” He heard her sigh on the other end of the line and he knew she was considering it. “Listen, I’ll be at the HMS Bounty tonight at 8. Please just meet me there. I’ll buy you a drink. All you have to do is listen to me.” He asked one last time, not wanting to sound too desperate, but he was. “Please.”

* * *

 

Killian had barely made it through the two weeks since he met Emma.

He had spent that first weekend walking through the park, nodding and smiling to everyone he passed, only to receive confused looks if they acknowledged him at all. He went to the library, typically a weeknight activity, and tried to engage with the librarian. It was the same woman who always helped him, however when he asked for books recommendations, instead of just picking something out on his own, she just walked away.

He was finding that true everywhere. Minor interactions were fine. “$4.35 please sir.” and he would pay for his coffee. Asking the barista what he would recommend led to him standing there mute until Killian finally just said, “latte, please.”

Killian went home in defeat, grabbing a beer and settling in with his book. It was what he did. He was fine with life that way. So why did it all of the sudden feel so wrong.

Going into work on Monday it hit him how absolutely insane everything in his life was. This was his office. People should know him here. But when he started asking people when they had met, or how long he’d worked there, it was the same as he’d get from strangers. They’d shake their heads in confusion and walk away. When he pulled up the records for the project he’d been working on, he found out he had been working on it for years. Literally years. How was that even possible?

He sat staring at his cubicle wall for the rest of the day, just to see what happened. Nothing did. No one talked to him. No one called him. No one noticed or cared when he got up at 3:30 and just walked out of the office. If there were consequences, and he started to doubt there would be, he would deal with them tomorrow.

How was it that he’d never noticed that he had no human interaction?

The next day he decided to start working on a project of his own. He almost hoped he would get in trouble for working on personal business at work. Opening a spreadsheet he methodically put together a list of every bail bonds agency in the city. Starting at the beginning, he called each one, asking for Emma. Most just hung up as soon as they heard him.

After two weeks, he was starting to get discouraged, but nowhere close to giving up. He felt things changing.

Every night after work he’d step outside of his routine and tried to experience something new. New clothing that he felt much more comfortable in. Tried different bars and different drinks. A beer was no longer his standard. He saw movies. He went for walks. It was disconcerting to feel as though you were alone in a sea full of people, but the new experiences were almost enough.

Almost.

So now that he had finally found her, he hoped beyond hope he could convince her to help.

He arrived at the HMS Bounty in his new black jeans, dark shirt and leather jacket, grabbed two seats at the bar, ordered a rum and settled in with the hope his savior would arrive. The Bounty was one of his new finds. A dark hole-in-the-wall, the interior was modeled after a ship. Poorly done of course, but it was enough to give him a sense of being at home. Waiting patiently, he sat sipping his rum and studying the large painting of a schooner behind the bar.

He felt her enter the bar before he ever saw her. Just as it was last time everything cleared. He hadn’t even realized that the fog had settled back in, not quite as heavy as before, but it was there. When she entered, it lifted. Colors were brighter, sounds were crisper. Life seemed better.

When the stool next to him slid out, and he saw her sit down, his chest swelled. She was going to help him. He knew it. Things were going to change. She placed a file on the bar top and signaled the bartender. “Whiskey, rocks.”

“And good evening to you too Swan.”

“Swan?”

“I told you,” he said with a smirk. “It suits you. Elegant, graceful.” She scoffed.

No longer able to hide his curiosity he motioned to the paperwork on the countertop. “What’s in the file?”

“You.”

He looked up at her, momentarily losing his newfound swagger. His eyes were wide, questioning hers. She’d already done research. What answers did she find?

“Do I want to know? Am I on the run from the law, leading a new life as a dull office drone?” He thumbed the side of the file, opening just the cover to see that there wasn’t much there. She remained silent, and he finally took the file and opened it fully.

“I don’t understand, love. Why are there twenty … eight tax returns?” he asked after counting the stack. “And my library record?”

“I don’t understand it either, Killian. I’ve put every resource I have into it. The IRS says you’ve existed for 28 years based on tax records, but that’s it. No healthcare records, your company doesn’t have any files on you except for pay stubs. They’ve been paying you for 28 years. You’ve rented the same apartment for 28 years. You’ve had a library card for 28 years. Did you know you’ve checked out the same 52 books every year for the past three years? That’s as far as the records go back. Not always in the same order, but one book a week. Always a repeat. No pictures of you exist.”

Trying to keep from being overwhelmed by the information, he latched onto that one statement. Smirking, he asked, “You looked for pictures of me, Swan. I would have sent you one if i’d known you were interested”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

Dropping the swagger he became serious again and nodded for her to continue.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, Killian. I’m baffled. I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t think I can help you any further. This is the end for me. I’ve failed.”

She picked up her whiskey and downed it in one long gulp, and motioned with the empty glass to the bartender for another.

Killian finished his rum and motioned for another as well.

“Honestly love, I’m not sure who’s more depressed by this, you or me. But I can tell you one thing, you haven’t failed. You’ve at least proved to me I’m not crazy. That’s a start. Thank you.”

They both sat silently for a few minutes. Killian was trying to process what he’d just heard, and she needed to process finally saying what she’d found out aloud. Saying it out loud made it real. She couldn’t take it back now. She was invested.

“What’s with the clothes?”

He turned to her, happy to find she was willing to prolong the interaction. He had half expected her to walk out the door the second she’d finished her drink.

“I found that a character such as myself needed a more fitting wardrobe. Flattering, don’t you think?”

Emma tried to look unimpressed, but she had to admit to herself that the new apparel was not hurting. The good looking man from the laundromat had transformed into a gorgeous human being out from under the fluorescent lights. It wasn’t just the new clothing, but also the bravado. Here was a man who was being told his life was unexplainable, and he took it in stride and turned anything he could into a chance to flirt with her. He vacillated between the quiet, thoughtful man she originally encountered and this new, well character as he’d put it. She kept trying to tell herself she couldn’t get involved. She couldn’t do complicated, and there was nothing easy about him.

Except that she would look at him and feel as though he were a piece of something she’d been missing.

She got up to leave, wanting to get away before she was pulled even further in, and he stopped her, again touching her arm and sending shocks through her body.

“Please, please stay.” She heard the loneliness in his voice, and that was something she could relate to. Wanting to say she couldn’t, but not being able to express the words, she settled back down into her seat.

“You’re the only person who talks to me. It’s as though I don’t exist, and I’m not sure I can take it.” The previously cocky man had gone to broken right before her eyes, and she was drawn to his sadness. It was something she understood.

“What do you mean?”

“Watch.” He turned to the patron on the other side, tapped her on the shoulder trying to get her attention. She didn’t turn. He looked at Emma. “That’s what happens. Unless I’m directly asking for a good or service, no one acknowledges I exist. Not here, not on the streets. Not even at work. I stopped going on Tuesday, and somehow my paycheck still ended up in my bank account.”

He motioned for the bartender for another demonstration. “My lovely friend here and I would like two beers please.” The bartender made to walk away, not asking what kind. Killian tried to stop him. “Do you have any recommendations? What’s good? I’ve heard about pilsners.” Killian kept talking, and Emma watched as the bartender came back with two mass produced beers, still not even replying to Killian’s questions, or even indicating in anyway that he’d heard them.

“I don’t understand. Is it like that with everyone?”

“Everyone but you, love. Now you see why I need you to stay?”

Emma nodded, wide eyed. Nothing about this made any sense.

“Talk to me. Tell me about yourself.”

She took a moment. She was realizing that for as much as Killian was desperate for someone to talk to, she felt the same way. How was it that she had gotten to twenty eight with no real friends? She couldn’t remember the last time she just sat and had a conversation with someone she wasn’t trying to get information out of for work.

He looked at her, again like he was looking right into her. “You can trust me, Emma. No one is going to listen even if I were to repeat anything you tell me. I want to know you. I want to know the one person who can see me.”

“My life hasn’t been the greatest. It’s not exactly a pick-me-up story if you’re looking for something to help with depression.”

He laughed. “That I’d already surmised. Still, I’d like to know all the same.”

She started telling him about being abandoned and growing up in foster care. The families who would take her home, and then return her as soon as things got too tough. The years of never having enough, never having anything really of her own. Soon she realized she’d told him more about herself than any other person on earth. And she stopped herself. She stopped short of revealing her biggest secrets. The first love of her life, leaving her to take the fall for his crime. The second love of her life, who she wouldn’t even look at before they took him away.

She’d been silent for a moment and she felt Killian’s hand brush across her cheeks, wiping tears away. A tiny sniffle escaped her as she tried to return herself to the stoic woman she built herself to be. She’d overcome all of that, and here she was crying to a virtual stranger.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to share it all tonight, Swan. Save some for next time.”

She finally looked up at him with a tiny smile. “Next time? What makes you think there will be a next time?”

“Well Emma, hope is a powerful thing.”


	3. Chapter 3

They settled into an easy routine fairly quickly. On days that she worked, she let him tag along acting as her unofficial partner. He would meet her outside her apartment, waiting for her with an extra cup of coffee, and excitement for the day's plans. It amused her that what she often viewed as drudgery he saw as an adventure. He was methodical with his research, which she appreciated, and was good company during a stakeout.

They spent many nights holed up in her car, staring at doors that never opened or for skips that never appeared. They would pass the time with only each other for company, watching Netflix on her tiny phone, playing cards, or just talking. Her favorite nights were the ones he read to her, his voice giving new life to all of her old favorites.

The nights they talked were Killian's favorite. He would share with her whatever he had learned on his day off, and try to pry information from her about her past. He was desperate to know everything about her. How he could get her to open up was a surprise to her, but she'd always realize she never meant to share a particular story until after she'd already told it.

It was the night he asked about how she ended up in bail bonds that everything changed. She knew before she started talking what she'd be revealing, but couldn't stop herself. She told him about stealing the car as a teenager and meeting Neal. She told him about how she thought it was love, and the life they talked about building together. She told him how he abandoned her and she took the fall for his stolen watches. She told him about the year in jail. She told him that she'd never seen Neal again.

All of this had led to a record, and a difficult time getting a more regular job. But she got her G.E.D. and her parole officer had sent her to a friend of his who ran a bail bonds agency. It turned out she had a knack for finding people, and had turned it into a real career. She'd built a life.

If he hadn't pressed she could have left it there.

"Have you ever looked for him, looked for Neal?"

"No."

"Your parents?"

"No."

"But, you could get answers. For why he left you. For why they left you."

She grew quiet, and Killian put his arm around her. It was their first physical contact, and Emma wanted to shrug it off, but couldn't bring herself to. She needed the comfort. She needed the weight of his arm telling her it was all okay. "It's their loss, Swan. For whatever reason they left, they're the ones missing out. If they ever come to find you, they'll realize what a mistake they've made." He placed a kiss on the top of her head, and continued to just hold her.

Finally, in a quiet voice, Emma spoke. "That's what I'm scared of the most. I had a baby in jail. A little boy. I'm scared that someday he's going to find me, and I'm going to have to explain to him why I gave him up. Why I couldn't keep him. I can't deal with the thought of the disappointment I'll be to him. And how much he must hate me. At least I can face him knowing that he was adopted, and went to a family. That I did it to give him a better life. That much I know I did for him. But I'm scared I'll look at him and see what a mistake I made in giving him up."

Tears were slowly falling down her cheeks. She'd never admitted this to anyone, and Killian knew that it was best if he didn't acknowledge what he heard. She'd be upset with herself for sharing. He stayed there quietly, not moving, simply holding her as they both pretended to watch the building in front of them.

_____________________

Emma would never admit it to him, but the friendship she developed with Killian had become the closest she'd ever had in her life. She went from complete loner to someone who had a person they could absolutely rely on almost overnight. She tried to keep her distance, and tried to keep him from getting to her. But she always found herself revealing a little more than she ever intended. Always found herself relying on him more than she wanted.

As the months had passed she'd long stopped questioning the odd circumstances of his life. He didn't like to mention it, and whenever she brought it up, it only made him uncomfortable. He said that as long as she spent time with him, things were okay. It made the rest of his time bearable. She never liked to think about what his time apart from her was like. It was hard enough for her to see how people treated him when she was there. Her heart ached for him every time she saw someone look right past him, or practically ignore his question or greeting.

As much as she wouldn't admit how much she'd come to rely on Killian to herself, she'd certainly never admit to him that she needed him. But everyday it was becoming harder to deny. It wasn't just that helped her with skip apprehension, or that he never wanted to split the reward money. It was his company. Her job involved a lot of long hours stationed in her car, watching for someone to come or go, and it got lonely. Now with Killian, she had someone to talk to, to read to her, or to just sit and be silent with. It was the last one that got to her the most.

She tried to ignore the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn't see. She tried to ignore the fact that she didn't mind. She tried to ignore herself when at the end of long days all she really wanted to do was invite him up and curl up on the couch with him. But that is where she drew the line, for her own protection.

She'd created unspoken rules. He wasn't allowed to come up to her apartment. She couldn't touch him. They couldn't spend every day together. The rules were for self preservation. She wanted to do all of these things, which was exactly what told her she couldn't. She'd let him in too much already. She tried to ignore that the days she spent away from him just made her miss him all the more; made seeing him the next day all the better. It terrified her. She knew it couldn't last. Someday Killian would remember his life and return to it. Or something would come along and burst the bubble they lived in, and she'd be left alone, again. It was too late though. The days she took to herself already let her know that she was in too deep, and it was already going to hurt like hell when he left. She needed to maintain what little armor she had been able to maintain, so she could survive when he inevitably left.

After revealing the last of her secrets, and breaking the rules, Emma needed time. She needed to make sure she could live life without Killian, to prepare for the day he was gone again. Holing up in her apartment, sitting on the couch with her phone in her hand hand, finger hovering over the Killian button wasn't exactly living life, but she would get there.

She shouldn't have been surprised when her phone rang after just a week. It was longer than they'd gone without seeing each other, and she raced to answer the phone.

He didn't question her absence. He just said he needed help with a plan, and asked if she could spend the day with him tomorrow. She wasn't strong enough to say no, and quickly agreed.

She walked downstairs the next morning to find Killian waiting outside, coffee at the ready and a shopping bag at his feet. He greeted her with a massive smile, and all the heaviness in her soul lifted. She had worried that he would judge her, or look at her differently after finding out she had given up her child. Instead, he handed her the coffee, and put his hook in his pocket, offering her his leather clad elbow. A week had done nothing except to make Emma miss him more, and she couldn't deny herself the contact. She could still feel the weight of his arm around her shoulders, and wanted him that close again. Taking his arm in both her hands, she quickly fell in step with him as they walked off down the street.

Trying to pretend all was normal, she asked, "What's the plan for the day? You said you needed my help."

"Well, not so much your help as your presence."

She turned on him with a questioning eye.

"I've been charting my wanderings, and I'm confined to a 10 block radius, unless I'm with you. Without you, if I try to leave the designated area, it's as though a fog settles in. Or other times a lead weight settles in my chest and I simply can't walk any further."

Ignoring the oddity that was Killian's life, she questioned what he needed instead. "So you need me with you to go somewhere?"

"Yes, love. Down to the harbor. We're going sailing. I'm tired of just reading about it."

She jokingly turned back around, until he caught her and spun her back in the proper direction.

"Do you even know how to sail?"

"You wound me, love."

She gave him a look.

"Well, I'm fairly certain I know how to sail. I checked out a book this week, and I already knew everything in it. But I'll stay close to the shore so that if anything were to go wrong we could swim back. Please, Swan?"

She could never resist when he said please. When she considered the odd circumstances of his life, and how little he really asked for, it would be cruel of her to say no. Besides, it wouldn't be terrible to go sailing for the day, assuming he didn't sink the boat and kill them both.

"Once you see I can handle this, I'll start taking you out for longer voyages."

"If we don't sink today you mean."

"When we don't sink today, you mean," he quickly corrected, nudging her with his shoulder.

Laughing, she closed her eyes a moment, relying on him to guide her. She wanted to appreciate for just for today what she could have if she let herself. She resolved to enjoy herself, and his company; to not overthink things.

She knew he would be open to more than their friendly relationship, and it was proof of how well he knew her that he hadn't even tried. Today when her guard was down and she was being completely honest with herself, she wished he would. She knows she wouldn't be able to say no, not if he were to try today.

When they reached the boat it was immediately evident that Killian knew exactly what he was doing. There was never a moment's hesitation as he cast off. Another item in the unexplainable category that Emma had long stopped keeping track of. She settled into one of the few seats on the small boat's deck, and stared off over the horizon, occasionally glancing at Killian as he secured a rope or moved the tiller. She'd never seen him so happy. She sat enjoying watching both the horizon and Killian in his element.

It was a crisp day, just as summer was turning to fall, and the rising sun did little to take the chill out of the air. Killian stayed at the tiller the majority of the day, running them back and forth along the coast, while Emma relaxed on deck reading a book. Around lunchtime they dropped the anchor and he spread out the picnic lunch he'd brought with them. After they finished eating, he asked if she was ready to go back in.

"No." She'd stated it so quickly and adamantly.

He'd never been happier to hear her say no. He smiled.

"Let's just stay out here a little while longer," she added.

He sat and looked at her as the wind whipped through her curls, as she sat looking out over the water.

"You seem different out here, Swan. More relaxed."

She closed her eyes took a deep breath of the ocean air. "What's to be concerned with out here?"

He moved to sit next to her on the deck, shoulder touching hers.

"So you'll come out with me again?"

"Coming out again means that we've gone back in. Do we ever have to go back in?"

He laughed and put his arm around her, taking the chance she'd let him. "Love, we've eaten all of our rations, and I don't believe I know how to catch a fish. We'd starve to death eventually. Besides, you would grow sick of my company."

She put her head on his shoulder, reminding herself it was just for today.

"Maybe I wouldn't." She said it so quietly he wasn't sure he heard. He closed his eyes and let her admission soak in. The tiny glimmer of hope always dimly flickering within burst into flame. Deciding it was the best chance he'd ever have, knowing she couldn't run if he tried, he took a chance, and tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him and then lowered his forehead to touch hers.

She closed her eyes. "Killian."

"Emma, my love."

He brushed his lips across her forehead and his thumb across her cheek.

"Killian, I'm not really your love. You only think that because I'm the only person who can see you."

"Or maybe you're the only one who can see me because you're meant to be my love?"

She sighed. "Killian."

"Emma, please." And that was all it took. She couldn't say no when he said please. She lifted her face up just enough and he knew it was a yes, and caught her lips with his.

He had no memory of any other kiss in his life, but knew this was not common. This was not ordinary. As soon as his lips met hers his entire body pulsed. The world started to glow. Everything at that moment was Emma. There was no beginning and no end. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, and pressed his soul into hers. The loneliness and the heartache had all been the price he'd paid, and he would pay it all over again for this moment. Nothing else would ever matter to him except for this woman.


	4. Chapter 4

It was Emma who broke the kiss, and as soon as she stepped back he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"What the hell, Killian? What was that?" He could hear the panic in her voice but he couldn't process anything at that moment. All of the peace and serenity he'd just experienced had been ripped from him and replaced with darkness, blacker than anything the fog had filled him with. He felt rage and anger, and…

"Emma, oh my god, love, I rem..." It wasn't until that moment that he even looked around to notice their surroundings. Gone was the boat. Instead of the Boston harbor they were standing on the street in a sleepy town, a few people walking down the street, no one seeming to notice them. Trying to reconcile a million thoughts and feelings crashing in on him all at once, he focused on Emma. He knew if he could just focus on her he could keep it together until he could process. Trying to breathe steadily, he lifted his eyes to hers.

All he saw in her face was complete and utter panic. She was clinging to him in desperation, eyes darting in every direction.

He steered them to a nearby bench, telling her to breathe. Telling her it would all be okay. He was as much saying it to himself as to her.

She put her head in her hands. "What will all be okay, Killian? The fact that one minute we're on a boat the next we're standing in the middle of the street?" Her voice had risen steadily as she questioned him, and he knew there was no sense in trying to quiet her. Instead, he pulled her to him and put his arm around her and held her close.

Ignoring the emotion swirling within, he put every ounce of himself into calming her. "Love, I'm sure we can figure this out. I'm sure there's an explanation. But right now there's no sense in getting worked up. We just need to figure out what to do." He knew he couldn't let on to anything that he was remembering, knowing she wouldn't believe and would flee if he tried to explain. He'd think about that later, when she was calmer. When he had time. When he himself had a clearer picture of what was going on.

"An explanation?" Her voice was quavering. She was shaking. 'There is no explanation for this. How can you be so calm?" Even with her head nestled into his chest, she couldn't keep her eyes still, trying to take in her surroundings, looking for anything that might tell her where she ended up.

Finally, she stood up, and started running. Killian quickly bolted upright as well, fully intending to run after her. After just a few steps, he heard her call out. "Don't follow me."

With the loss of her touch, he felt the panic rise, and he couldn't follow her. He sat back down on the bench watching as her figure grew smaller as she ran down the street. The longer she was away the less control he had over his own emotions.

For twenty eight years his memories had been blocked out, and now they were forcing their way into his reality. They could only be held at bay so long. Memories of death, of murder, of revenge. Whenever he could turn his mind back to Emma, he could feel his soul cleanse. But the respite wouldn't last. As quickly as his mind quieted with thoughts of her, the vision would be snuffed out and the blackness would return.

He knew what he was here to do. It was all part of the plan. But he didn't see Emma coming, and didn't know how she was to fit into all of this. He loved her. He hadn't loved anyone since... and that's when he finally remembered her. Milah. The cause of it all.

He sat, letting his head fall back, feeling utterly defeated. At a loss for everything. Alone.

After meeting Emma he'd grown used to having at least one person he could relate to. To talk to. Now, with this problem, there was no one. He would not burden Emma with this. He would not bring her into his mess.

Scrubbing his face with his hand, he set his thoughts to practical matters. Emma would be back. He was quite sure she would not be able to go anywhere. They would need lodgings for the night, and beyond that they could figure everything else out tomorrow.

As she sat on the bench with Killian she tried to compose her thoughts. The longer she sat there, stilled by the comfort of his arms, the crazier she went. She needed to move. To get away. To figure out her situation. She didn't know what had happened, but knew that he'd caused it. She'd let him in and somehow she got pulled into the mystery that was Killian Jones. Now she had no idea where she was, or why she was here. Instinct kicked in, and she did what she did best.

She ran.

Ran until the building were further apart. Ran until the trees became denser. Ran until she couldn't run anymore.

Not because she was physically tired.

But because something was stopping her.

She found herself standing at the town line. "Leaving Storybrooke" the sign said, which at least gave her an answer to one question. She now knew where she was. Storybrooke.

She kept trying to continue down the road, but her chest would get heavy. Her legs would become lead. And she wouldn't be able to go further. It would become impossible to move.

She just stood there, staring down the road. Wondering what the hell she'd done to deserve this.

It was all because she let Killian in. She never should have talked to him. Never should have helped him. None of this should have happened. She should have hung up the phone when he called. Or just sent her clothes to the fluff and fold. Hadn't she learned her lesson eleven years ago? She chastised herself.

Now she was caught in whatever weird reality he had been trapped in. She wanted to blame him for everything, but she remembered the look on his face. He looked, not confused, but dumbstruck, to be standing there in the middle of the town. She wanted to be angry, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't cause this. He was just the reason she got pulled into it.

She tried to pull out her phone to pull up a map, see where Storybrooke was exactly, only to find there was no signal. Of course there wasn't a signal. She threw her phone into the woods in utter defeat.

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there staring at the sign, but she decided to get out of the road. Dusk was setting in, and she knew she would have to start making her way back into town to find a place to stay at least for the night, or until she could find a way back home. Not eager to return, she made the walk back slowly.

Upon entering what appeared to be the town square, Emma looked around to see if Killian was waiting anywhere for her to return. He wasn't at the bench from earlier, and she wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved. She didn't know if she was ready to face him, still wanting to blame him for her current predicament. But she could have used the familiar face. In the last months he'd become everything to her.

She saw one of the nearby buildings was an inn, and she headed there. She figured she could get a room for the night, and that it was the most likely place to find Killian if she decided she wanted to see him.

As soon as she entered, the woman behind the desk said her name.

"Yes?"

"Your friend already got a room for you. He said he wasn't sure if you would be coming tonight, but to get a room ready for you just in case. I gave you a nice room with a view. I hope you like it, dear. You look like you could use a good rest. Come on down to the diner in the morning. We'll get a good breakfast set up for you, too."

"Um, thank you." Emma was unused to having anyone fuss over her. "Can you tell me what room my friend is in?"

"Just next door to yours. On the left."

"Thank you."

Bypassing Killian's door, Emma went straight to her room and settled into bed, trying to calm her thoughts. Nothing made sense, and all she knew was that it all started with Killian.

As much as she wanted to go knock on his door and take comfort in his arms, she told herself that was a mistake. Getting close to him caused this in the first place. Had she only kept to herself she'd be tucked into her comfortable bed, in her apartment right now.

She rolled over, trying to get settled, hoping sleep would come. Knowing it wouldn't.

She allowed herself to cry. She sobbed, letting out all of the hurt, the turmoil, and the anger. Her body convulsed with the emotions pouring through her, hot tears flowing from her eyes. She hoped she could cry out all of the pain and the confusion. She hope she could cry herself to sleep, so that she could get some rest.

She heard a knocking at the door, and knew who it would be. She stifled her cries, and tried to lie still, hoping he would go away.

"Emma, open the door. I need to see you."

"Killian, go away." She tried to keep her voice from cracking, but was unsuccessful.

"Emma, open the door, love. Please."

She could hear the hurt and anger in his voice. Knew the anguish he was feeling. Giving in to both her physical and emotional longing, she decided to open the door. She needed him, as much as she didn't want to admit it, and knew that he needed her comfort as well.

She wiped the tears from her cheek and stood to answer the door.

When face to face with him, he didn't move towards her as she expected. She thought he would immediately wrap her up in his arms, She hoped he would. Instead, he stood there looking at her, waiting for her to speak first. The pain she saw in his eyes was almost unbearable.

She couldn't handle speaking at first, and simply stepped forward placing her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Killian, what is this? What's happened?"

"Love, I can't explain it. I want to go back to before it became this complicated. I just want to hold you and pretend we're back on the boat."

For tonight, she'd allow it. Tonight she'd let herself be weak, and let him in.

She turned, holding his hand and leading him into the room. She climbed into bed and he climbed in after her. She put her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, and the two laid silently, both trying to forget anything outside of each other and outside of the room.

When Killian woke the next morning, he didn't instantly remember the situation he'd found himself in the previous evening. He woke to the sheer bliss of holding Emma in his arms. When everything came crashing back to mind, he tried to push those thoughts away to relish what little time he had left with Emma, before she awoke and disentangled herself from him. He knew her too well, and knew she would push him further away after letting him so close. Taking a deep breath, and hugging her closer, he decided the best thing would be to get up and go down to breakfast before she realized their position.

She joined him a little while later at the diner connected to the inn, sliding into the booth across from him as he took a sip of coffee. He told her that he'd ordered her usual for her, and it wasn't long before a young brunette with red streaks in her hair brought it over to the table.

"So, you two are new in town. What brings you in? We don't get many visitors."

They hadn't thought to develop a cover story yet, and both looked at each other hoping the other would come up with something, quick.

Finally Killian answered, happy that someone was addressing him directly for the first time in twenty eight years. He found the human connection helped keep him concentrated on his new goals.

"We were driving through, and broke down just outside of town."

"So, are you two, you know, just friends?"

Before either had a chance to answer, they heard the woman from the night before call over to their table. "Ruby, I pay you to take orders. Not interrogate customers." She turned away from the table, but not before winking at Killian. Emma would never admit it, but she felt jealousy rise. So many months of having Killian to herself, she wasn't sure if she was prepared for this new world where she might have to share him with other people.

They didn't have time to discuss anything before they were joined by a kid standing at the side of their table. He appeared to be ten, standing by himself with his breakfast in hand.

"I saw you, you know."

He motioned for Killian to scoot over. Setting his breakfast down, he took off his backpack and made himself at home at their table. Neither could reply, too confused by this newcomer. "I saw you," he repeated. "Just pop in last night. In the middle of the street." Their jaws dropped at this. Both that they were seen, and how matter of factly the kid reported it.

"I"m Henry." He held out his hand to Emma, motioning that she was to shake it. She shook away her confusion and took his hand. "I think you're confused, kid. We didn't just pop into the middle of the street."

"No, you did. But it's okay. I know why you're here."

Emma responded with a dry laugh. "Great, then maybe you can explain it to me. I'm Emma."

And at this, the boy smiled like it was Christmas morning. And took a rather large book out of his bag.


	5. Chapter 5

Henry had run out of the diner that morning, yelling that he'd be late, but with instructions that they were to read the book and meet him there after school. Emma barely gave it a two second glance, seeing the Once Upon a Time embossed on the cover before she dismissed it. She mumbled something about needing to figure out what to do about their situation and left, leaving Killian on his own.

As soon as she passed through the door, and just as he expected, his past started to intrude on his present, leaving his mind a swirl of darkness. He flipped open the book, hoping that the pages could provide a distraction.

From the first illustration he was stunned. He knew these stories. And not because he'd read them in a book. They were part of his previous world. His past. Some of them he knew all too well. He was engrossed. The last thing he expected to see in the lad's book were bits of history put to words and pictures.

It's when he got to the story of Snow White and Prince Charming's baby that all the air was sucked out of the room. He read as they consult with Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin. He read as the prince takes the child and places her in the enchanted wardrobe, with the plea to find them. Emma. She's destined to find them in twenty eight years. To save them all. To bring back their happy endings.

He pushed the book away from him, trying to breathe. The guilt he'd felt started to dissipate. Since their arrival the night before, he'd been berating himself. None of this would have happened if he hadn't gotten her involved. Now, more than ever, he believed she was the key. The savior. He needed the boy to explain it. He needed her to listen.

* * *

 

He found her standing at the town line staring down the road. Her back was to him, and she had not acknowledged his arrival, although he could tell she knew he was there.

"I can't leave," she finally said. "My chest feels like lead, and there's a fog. Just like you described."

He hung his head. "It doesn't help. I should know. I spent the months after meeting you staring at my boundaries, love. Looking at where you can't go only makes it worse." He walked up to join her, standing shoulder to shoulder. They both stared down the road, into the fog.

After a period of silence she finally turned to face him. "What do you suggest then?" She was overcome with exhaustion and frustration. "Stay here? Stay in this town?"

Pointing out that leaving wasn't really an option wouldn't help the situation. "We don't have to figure it all out right now, Swan. But for starters, there's a lad who will be waiting to talk to us at the diner."

"About fairy tales? I saw the book, Killian. Once Upon a Time? They're stories for kids. To make them feel better when life sucks. To tell them there's a happy ending to it all. It's too late for me. My childhood sucked. And look at this." She gestured in front of them. "Life doesn't get better."

"I don't know about that, Swan." He leaned towards her, knocking her shoulder with his own, trying to get her to notice the smile in his eyes and smirk on his face. It was crucial he get her back to the diner, and in a better mood. He needed her to listen to whatever the boy had to say.

"I'm sure there's more to it than fairy tales, Swan. I read the book. These aren't the stories you think you know. There are no happy endings. Besides, you've skipped lunch. You must be hungry. Please come back and get something to eat. Granny's has grilled cheese and onion rings." She'd been staring back down the road again, and he moved in front of her to to catch her eyes, hoping the promise of her favorite foods would entice her back to town.

"Come on, Swan. You know you're hungry. You know staring at the road does nothing. Please don't make me go back and tell the lad you aren't coming."

She relented, hanging her head further than he thought possible, but finally moving her feet in the direction of town.

As they walked back Killian appreciated the beauty of their surroundings. It had been so long since he'd seen anything other than the hectic city streets of Boston and while the woods had never been home to him, the serenity was a welcome change. His walk out to find her had been difficult. The quiet did nothing to help distract him from the thoughts in his head. Now, with Emma by his side, he could quell his demons and enjoy the sound of the birds and the wind in the trees. He was reminded that no matter what, he could not jeopardize his relationship with Emma. Not for revenge. Not for his past. Not for anything.

* * *

 

They arrived at the diner before the boy, and took their seats in a booth. Killian slid the book in front of Emma, but didn't say anything. He wouldn't press her to read it, knowing the more he said about it, the less inclined she'd be to give it a chance.

A waitress came over to take their orders, and as they waited, Emma finally began flipping through the pages. More for lack of anything better to do than true curiosity.

When the boy arrived, he slid in next to Killian and immediately started grilling Emma.

"Did you read the book?"

She had an onion ring half in her mouth, and had to take a moment to swallow before she could answer. "No." She wanted to roll her eyes and say 'Really, kid? They're fairy tales.' But all of the sudden she couldn't bring herself to disappoint him. "Why don't you tell me about it."

Henry sighed, frustration evident. "You need to read these. They're not the stories you think you know. They're all different, they're the true stories."

She smiled, trying to hide the condescension she was sure wasn't appropriate in front of a child. "The true stories, kid? Fairy tales aren't true. They're just stories people read to make themselves feel better."

"I mean it; they're the true stories. Storybrooke is cursed. The Evil Queen, my mom, cursed everyone here to live without magic because she was mad at Snow White, and you're the savior. You're here to bring back the happy endings." She noticed Killian tense up as the kid had let out his rant, but the other patrons of the diner were completely oblivious to his outburst.

"Hey, kid. Calm down." She had zero experience with kids. By choice. The guilt she felt anytime she was around them made her interactions stilted and uncomfortable, so she learned to keep her distance. But she knew enough to know that this kid's delusion was not normal. Happy kids did not invent realities in which they were living in a curse.

She stretched her hand across the table and touched his wrist, with the hope that it would quiet him. He looked at her, and the plea in his big brown eyes almost broke her heart. He flipped the book open to the middle and started jabbing at the illustration. "Look, there. That's you. That's your dad. He sent you to this world to save you from the curse."

"Kid, I don't have a dad. I don't have parents," she said, shaking her head.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you." He was almost yelling at this point. "You do. They didn't want to send you away. They had to. And now you're back. You're back to save anyone. To bring back the happy endings. Just look."

Emma finally glanced at the page. She saw a man, carrying a child wrapped in a blanket; the name Emma embroidered in purple ribbon. She couldn't think about that blanket.

"Kid, that's a coincidence. Just because my name is Emma doesn't make any of this real."

The kid deflated. "Of course you don't believe. It wasn't going to be that easy." He put his head down on the table.

She looked at Killian, a total loss for what to do. He just shook his head.

Finally, Henry lifted his head and looked right at her. "Have you ever had a kid?" Hope written across every feature of his face.

Emma lied faster than she ever had in her life. Her answer was a stone cold "No." This kid was perceptive, and she really hoped he hadn't noticed Killian's sharp glance in her direction when he heard her lie. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm adopted. The Evil Queen is my adopted mom. I've kind of wondered where I fit in to all of this, and hoped that when I found you, maybe you'd be my real mom."

* * *

 

Emma lay awake in bed that night, her thoughts on Henry. Not on his story book, or on the ridiculous curse. But the fact that yes, he was her son. She realized before he had even finished asking the question. She saw Neal in him. In his smile. In his wide brown eyes. She wondered how she hadn't noticed it earlier. The tears started to streak down her cheeks.

She rolled to her side, hoping she could keep from waking Killian.

The more she thought about him, the harder the tears flowed. She had given the child up to give him a better life, and here he was, so unhappy that he'd invented delusions of a curse and of a savior who would rescue him. He was supposed to have a family who loved him. Who would protect him and ensure that he would never have to know the sadness that she herself had felt growing up.

This boy was crushed to find out she wasn't his mom.

She felt shame. Shame that she had been living in Boston, doing well for herself and never once thought to look for him. Not to take him back, but just to make sure he was okay. Maybe if she had she could have prevented him from constructing his alternate reality.

Killian rolled over and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Love, is everything alright?"

She sniffed a bit, trying to compose herself as her only response.

"He's your boy, isn't he?"

She rolled over, nestling herself into his chest, and cried.


	6. Chapter 6

They’d developed a routine. It had been a week since their arrival in Storybrooke, and it was enough time to become less of an oddity to the locals. Once everyone had gotten over the novelty of newcomers, they were more or less treated as though they belonged.

Emma was always last to breakfast, after Killian had already consumed a cup of coffee and most of the previous day’s events in the paper. He had impeccable instincts, and he ordered so that breakfast would arrive on the table the second she sat down. She would eat, catch up on the news, and they would take one last look through the paper to confirm they hadn’t missed any apartment vacancies or help wanted ads.

Of course, there was nothing.

Two cups of coffee to go, and they would continue their day, walking around the town. They’d become familiar with enough of the townspeople, and were greeted by name as they wandered. Aside from a few less than friendly citizens, the town pawn broker, who treated them with nothing but suspicion and Henry’s mother, the mayor, who regarded them with outright hostility, the town was friendly, if a bit sleepy. After a walk to confirm that no “vacancy” signs had been placed overnight, they’d usually end up at the water, just sitting watching the horizon.

Henry would find them after school, prattling on about who was whom in his story book. The sheriff was the Huntsman. Ruby was Red Riding Hood. His teacher, Mary Margaret Blanchard was Snow White, Emma’s supposed mother. That caused Emma to do a double take when she finally was introduced to Ms. Blanchard. The resemblance, save for hair color, was quite uncanny. The high cheekbones. The set of their mouths. Obviously this woman, probably Emma’s exact age, was not her mother, but spending a week listening to the boy made her at least consider the possibility, ridiculous as it was.

Henry had run off into his classroom, leaving her alone with the brunette. Based on her question, Emma realized the teacher was one of the few townspeople Henry had let in on his theories regarding the book. “So, who are you in Henry’s world?”

Emma just shook her head. “Not in the book.” She couldn’t tell this perfect stranger that she was her long lost daughter, even if it was just a boy’s delusion. She’d never even allowed herself the fantasy of a family, she wasn’t going to let a ten year old build a fake life for her.

She might have been happy in the small town. The days weren’t too unlike her days in Boston, sitting around waiting for something to happen. Except now, instead of waiting for a perp to appear outside of a door, or waiting for a missing piece of information to come to light, she was just waiting for anything to happen. It was the unknown that was driving her mad. At least she had Killian for company. He was her one constant.

* * *

 

This morning was no different than any other since they arrived. She dropped into what had become their booth, across from Killian, and Ruby set her food in front of her almost instantly. “Here you go, Emma. Coffee this morning?”

She turned to the waitress with a smile. “Coffee. Definitely coffee.” After just a week, the woman knew just what she’d want, and Emma appreciated how quickly she had been adopted as a regular. Ruby was back in a flash with a mug and a refill for Killian, and Emma tucked into her eggs and bacon, sighing. They would need to find someplace to live, soon. One could not live on diner food forever, no matter how friendly the service.  

“Anything new?”

He knew what she meant of course. “No.”

Emma sighed again, and looked around the diner. It was always the same crowd at every meal. Maybe it was just another anomaly of the town. Maybe along with no vacancies and no job openings, came no cholesterol issues.

She heard the bell above the door jingle, and out of habit looked up to see who had entered. Over the course of the week, she’d met just about everyone in town. Not that she was on speaking terms with everyone, but she liked knowing who was around.

Killian wasn’t prepared for her to shrink in on herself, letting her hair fall in a curtain in front of her face, as though she were trying to hide from the newcomer.

“This can’t be happening!” That was all she said, and he didn’t ask any questions, but turned to look at who had triggered this change in Emma. No one they’d met in the town had caused such a reaction.

He saw a man about his own age take a seat at the counter, and watched as Ruby poured him a cup of coffee.

“What’s this about, love? Do you know him?”

“We need to get out of here. Before he sees me. Now. Where’s he sitting?”

“Up at the counter. Ruby’s talking to him. He paused. “And now she’s pointing to us. And he’s looking over. What’s this about Emma? Who is that?”

“I’ll explain later. Is he looking at us?”

“No love, he’s just ordering.”

Emma risked a look, and saw that he was distracted. She decided to take a chance, and got up from the booth hoping they could sneak out the back exit up to their rooms.

“EMMA! KILLIAN!” It was Ruby who called to them, and there was no escape. “You guys, we’ve got another newcomer to town. Come over and meet him.”

Emma looked down, and prayed that he wouldn’t recognize her. Maybe 10 years would have brought enough change physically that there were no signs of the teenager he once knew.

“Emma, Killian, this is Neal. He just arrived in Storybrooke, too. Neal, Emma and Killian.”

“Hook.” She looked up when Neal spoke, but was surprised that his look of recognition was directed at Killian. In the time she had known Neal, she’d never known him to look scared, but he was now. Not of Killian, but more, it seemed, of the circumstances he found himself in.

“What was that?” Emma had meant to keep quiet, but hearing Neal address Killian by a different name spurred her curiosity.

The air had become almost instantly charged as the two men leveled their gazes at each other, but both turned to focus on Emma as soon as she spoke.

“Emma? What are you doing here? And with him?”  
“Emma, love? Is this Neal?”

They spoke in unison, both questioning her. Killian’s she understood. She had to pull him away as he finished his question, every muscle in his body was coiled to attack. He knew her story. The name Neal would have registered with him. But why Neal was sneering at Killian she didn’t understand.

“Love? Is that what you called my mother as well?”

Killian took a step back, and shook himself of Emma’s grasp, absolutely dumbfounded by the man’s question.

“Killian? Neal? Do you two know each other?” The anger she wanted to direct at the man who abandoned her was displaced by the concern for the man who obviously had been struck by memories from his past.

He had collapsed into one of the chairs, and dropped his head into his hands and she could hear him muttering two words. _Neal. Baelfire._

She crouched down at his side, forgetting Neal completely, trying to break into Killian’s thoughts. “Killian, what’s going on? What do you remember? Who is he to you?”  
  
“Emma, get away from him. Whoever you think he is, whoever he’s told you he is, you can’t trust him. He’s lying to you.”

“Oh, HE’S lying to me?” She spun around and the rage she’d managed to suppress rose quickly to the surface. “HE’S lying to me. That’s rich coming from you. Where have you been for the last 11 years Neal? You wanna know where I’ve been? Prison.”

She didn’t mean to let herself lose control, but she had not been prepared to encounter this man after so many years.

“People are staring, Emma. Let’s take this outside.” She looked around and saw that indeed, the diner had quieted, and everyone was watching. Glancing at Killian, he looked up and silently questioned her. She shook him off. Confronting Neal was something she needed to do alone, especially if Killian had his own fight to bring to the table.

As they walked to the front door, it flew open and Henry ran in, already calling out to her.

“Emma!”

“Hey kid, not now. You need to go to school. Today’s not a good day.”

“But…”

“But nothing, kid. School.” She pointed him towards the door, ignoring his protests that he could just talk to Killian instead. He wouldn’t say a word to her.  “Nope, school. Now. Ms. Blanchard’s waiting.”

She turned to Neal with a look that indicated that there was to be absolutely no discussion until the boy was out of earshot.

“Who was that?”   
  
“Mayor’s kid. Don’t get on her bad side. She’s scary.” She had watched until Henry turned the corner, and finally turned around, staring Neal down. “What are you doing here Neal? You know what, scratch that. Where did you go 11 years ago?”  

“What are you doing here with that guy?”

“You don’t get to ask any of the questions here, Neal. Not when you left me, abandoned me, and I spent a year in jail for your crime. Explain, now.”

“Someone from my past got to me, Emma. Informed on me, I guess you could say. They knew what I’d done. I had to get away. He said you’d get a few months jail time at a minimum security prison. I wasn’t going to get off that easy. You’d be able to get your life back on track once you got out.”

He had looked her dead in the eyes as he told her. He was telling the truth, partially. She’d always been able to tell when people were lying, and he wasn’t lying. Not completely. Neal had always been full of half truths, and as a teenager, desperate for love, she’d been willing to look past those. Now, after years of experience and years of anger at his betrayal, she’d had enough.

“So, because I wouldn’t get in as much trouble as you would, it was all okay? To just leave me to take the fall? I loved you Neal. You preyed on me, and I loved you.”

Neal could no longer look at her, and glanced back at the front of the diner. He saw Killian standing in the window, staring at them through the blinds. “How’d you hook up with him? I’m betting he hasn’t told you his story. Can’t have.” 

“Don’t try to change the subject Neal. I’ll deal with whatever that is later. I looked for you when I got out. I waited for you in Tallahassee. Two years, Neal. Two years.”   
  
“I never asked you for that, Ems. That’s on you.”

“That’s on me? That’s what you have to say for yourself?” She glanced back at Killian in the window. She couldn’t deal with any of this. Needing space, she walked off. She owed Neal nothing, not even a goodbye.

* * *

 

Killian watched as they fought in the courtyard, trying to figure out how he was going to explain his relationship to Baelfire, Neal, to Emma. Lying to her was never an option in his mind. He saw her storm off, and was prepared to chase after her, wanting to explain, but he couldn’t move, knowing there was nothing he could say.

He returned to their booth, and sat, waiting for for he didn’t know what.

The last thing he expected was to be joined by Baelfire, who signaled Ruby for a cup of coffee.

“You’ve grown.”  
  
“You haven’t.” They stayed silent as Ruby came by with the carafe, waiting until she was back behind the counter before either continued.

Baelfire started. “How much does Emma know? There’s no way you’ve told her anything. I know her. She wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t believe any of it.”

Killian shook his head. “You knew the girl she was. You have no idea who she is now. Not after what you did to her.”

“That’s rich coming from you. After what you did to my mother.”

Killian held up his hand in surrender. “We aren’t going to get anywhere by attacking each other. We need to figure out how to fix this. For Emma.” He fixed his gaze on the man opposite and raised an eyebrow. “Detente?”

Neal nodded almost imperceptibly, and Killian continued.

“This town, nothing is as it seems.”

Neal scoffed. “You’re telling me. Every day I leave, and wake up back in my car at the town line. For a week. It’s like fucking Groundhog’s Day.”

Killian had nodded, remembering the night he watched that movie on Emma’s tiny phone while waiting in an alley for a man who never showed.

“Who in the town knows?”

“No one knows as far as I can tell, although that lad you saw this morning thinks he does. He has a book. A book with our stories. He says Emma’s the savior, and she needs to believe in order to restore everyone’s memories.”

Neal almost choked as he heard this. He picked up a fork and started pushing the remains of Emma’s breakfast around on the plate still sitting on the table in front of him.

“I should tell you that your father is here.”

He dropped the fork. “And you haven’t killed him? I thought you’d sworn vengeance.” He knew it was wrong, but he hoped the man sitting in front of him would commit the crime, rid him of his father before he crossed his path.

The door chimed, and they both looked up, Neal peering over his shoulder, both hoping it would be Emma.

Neal realized when he saw the disappointment on Killian’s face what had been holding the man back from finally getting his retribution. “Emma. You can’t do it because of Emma.”

Killian merely nodded, confirming the man’s statement.

“So what do we do now?”

* * *

 

Killian walked to the shore, sure that he would find Emma there. He brought a lunch from Granny’s, hoping the food would serve as a peace offering.

“Is he gone?”

Killian shook his head, looking out at the horizon as Emma opened the bag of food. She inhaled deeply, and he was relieved that the bribe had worked. “He’s gotten a room at Granny’s. He’s just as much stuck here as we are, love.”

She scoffed at his use of the word love. “What’s going on, Killian? He knew you. Don’t even try lying to me.”   
  
“I never lie to you Emma. Never.”  
  
“Did you tell him about Henry?”

He couldn’t take this, her lack of faith. Her willingness to so quickly believe he’d betray her deepest secret.

“Emma.” He took her chin and nudged her face towards his before he spoke. “Anything you’ve ever told me about yourself is between us. Please, I know that no one has ever given you a reason to believe you can trust them, and you may believe you can’t trust me right now, but please try. Please trust me. I may not be able to explain everything to you all at this moment, but I will never lie, and I will never betray you.”

She searched his face and knew he was telling the truth. Not even a half truth. He was admitting that he couldn’t tell her everything. As strange as everything in her life had become, she wanted to trust him. To trust in the only person she felt she really knew, even as much as things had shifted in a handful of hours.

“Why can’t you tell me, Killian? What is there that I won’t understand?”

He settled his gaze out on the water, collecting his thoughts. “I don’t even know myself yet. I promise you, Emma. As soon as I figure it out I’ll explain everything.”

She remained silent on the issue the rest of the day, deciding to give him space. There was so much she wanted to ask, so many questions came to mind. But every time she began she remembered the look of absolute honesty on his face. He would explain when he could. She would wait.

That night, as he wrapped himself around her in their usual manner, one question popped out before she could stop it.

“What did Neal mean, ‘is that what you called my mother?’” She felt Killian tense instantly behind her, and he turned back, his hand scrubbing his face before coming to rest over his eyes. She rolled over to watch him in the dim of the room. He kept scrubbing his hand over his face, but finally it stilled.

“His mother, Milah, was my first love. She ran away from her husband, Neal’s father, to be with me, leaving Neal at home. He’s held me responsible ever since. There was a time I hoped we could build a relationship, but that time has come and gone, I’m afraid.”  
  
“You loved her, Neal’s mother?”

He finally removed his hand from his eyes, and rolled to face Emma. “She was everything to me while it lasted, and until I no longer remembered. I loved her body and soul, as I didn’t know it was possible for someone to love another. I was selfish. She was selfish. She spoke of going back, to see if Neal would come with us, but she was too scared of her husband, of what he had become, to face him. We left that boy with his father, and I will regret it until the day I die Emma. I know who he was to you, but I also know who he was to her.”

“What happened to her?”

“Her husband. He found us and murdered her right in front of me.”

She could see his face just enough in the dim to see the torment still etched in his features. She wished she could wipe away his memory to release him from the pain he was currently in, and cursed herself for asking him to relive it.

“Milah, her name was Milah?” He nodded, ever so slightly. “Was she beautiful?”

He nodded again. “But it wasn’t her beauty, love. It was her spirit.”

Emma rolled back to her side, knowing she should be focusing on how much in her life didn’t make sense. Instead, all she could think about was Milah. The woman Killian loved. The mother of her ex-boyfriend. The grandmother of her son.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story has been long abandoned, but I've just gotten the inspiration I need to continue it. Posting it here (a chapter every couple of days) will be the kick in the pants I need to get the next chapter queued up.


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